James Kenneth Stephen

The Last Ride Together (After Browning) - Poem by James Kenneth Stephen

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(From Her Point of View)

When I had firmly answered 'No',And he allowed that that was so,I really thought I should be freeFor good and all from Mr B.,And that he would soberly acquiesce:I said that it would be discreetThat for a while we should not meet;I promised I would always feelA kindly interest in his weal;I thanked him for his amorous zeal;In short, I said all I could but 'yes'.

I said what I'm accustomed to,I acted as I always do;I promised he should find in meA friend, - a sister, if that might be:But he was still dissatisfied:He certainly was most polite;He said exactly what was right,He acted very properly,Except indeed for this, that heInsisted on inviting meTo come with him for 'one more last ride'.

A little while in doubt I stood:A ride, no doubt, would do me good:I had a habit and a hatExtremely well worth looking at:The weather was distinctly fine:My horse too wanted exercise,And time, when one is riding, flies:Besides it really seemed, you see,The only way of ridding meOf pertinacious Mr B.:So my head I graciously incline.

I won't say much of what happened next:I own I was extremely vexed:Indeed I should have been aghastIf anyone had seen what passed:But nobody need ever knowThat, as I leaned forward to stir the fire,He advanced before I could well retire,And I suddenly felt, to my great alarm,The grasp of a warm unlicensed arm,An embrace in which I found no charm;I was awfully glad when he let me go.

Then we began to ride: my steedWasher fresh, too fresh indeed,And at first I thought of little, saveThe way to escape an early grave,As the dust rose up on either side.My stern companion jogged alongOn a brown old cob both broad and strong:He looked as he does when he's writing verse,Or endeavouring not to swear and curse,Or wondering where he has left his purse,Indeed it was a sombre ride.

I spoke of the weather to Mr B.,But he neither listened nor spoke to me;I praised his horse, and I smiled the smileWhich was wont to move him once on a while;I said I was wearing his favourite flowers:But I wasted my words on the desert air,For he rode with a fixed and gloomy stare:I wonder what he was thinking about:As I don't read verse, I shan't find out:It was something subtle and deep, no doubt,A theme to detain a man for hours.

Ah! there was the corner where Mr S.So nearly induced me to whisper 'yes':And here it was that the next but oneProposed on horseback, or would have done,Had his horse not most opportunely shied;Which perhaps was due to an unseen flickHe received from my whip: 'twas a scurvy trick,But I never could do with that young man:I hope his present young woman can.Well, I must say, never, since time began,Did I go for a duller or longer ride.

He never smiles and he never speaks:He might go on like this for weeks:He rolls a slightly frenzied eyeTowards the blue and burning sky,And the cob bounds on with tireless stride,If we aren't at home for lunch at twoI don't know what Papa will do;But I know full well he will say to me'I never approved of Mr B.;It's the very devil that you and heRide, ride together, for ever ride.'